


Pale

by Futurebug



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-01-26 07:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21370600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Futurebug/pseuds/Futurebug
Summary: Following the disappearance of prince Dimitri, Edelgard remains in the Kingdom.Nothing is well.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 44
Kudos: 142





	1. Prologue

If there were an apt comparison to which Patricia could wax poetic about her situation, it would be that of a flower. Always to be plucked, taken from her home for the pleasure of those who appreciated her beauty and little more.

Her first plucking had occurred at Garreg Mach. She’d been little more than 20 when she’d crossed paths with the emperor in the Goddess Tower. Being the young, starry-eyed fool that she was, she’d fallen for him, and accepted a proposal of becoming his consort without knowing what such a thing would entail. She hadn’t been expecting the political maze that would befall her, to constantly navigate the confusing world of royalty and the world of coming to terms with her husband’s many, many children and lovers.

Before long, she too bore him another child: a beautiful daughter with no inheritance in her future. Patricia couldn’t help but feel a spark of pity for the child; no doubt she too would have to throw herself into the world of political, loveless marriages at the heed of her own father. Patricia would fight tooth and nail for this child, she’d decided upon the first night after her birth. This child would not suffer like she had, this girl would carry her own future, and Patricia would battle her husband against any and all suitors who would seek to pluck her.

Her beautiful Edelgard.

The second plucking came some years later, shortly after her arrival in the Kingdom, begging for asylum. The king had been ensnared, and within a month she’d been wed in secret, largely out of a desire for assurance of her ability to remain in the Kingdom. 

She’d been certain to tell him that she was indeed one of the Emperor’s consorts, and yet he seemed to be entirely unphased by it, thoroughly assured that the Emperor would not concern himself with her remarrying when he’d had so many heirs and consorts as it stood, that one wife missing should hardly bother him.

The words felt like a dagger plunged into her chest. Of course, she was little more than one of her husband’s many playthings. What was one little toy over an entire collection of them? He had many more women who could entertain him, bear him heirs. It was not as though she or their daughter were of much consequence in his eyes.

And oh, how she missed her daughter. Edelgard had been left behind, left with a promise that her uncle would bring her to her mother when it was safe. Patricia prayed fiercely each night for Edelgard’s safety, that she was unharmed by the revolt, that her uncle was kind to her in their travels. Instead, she’d been given a boy to look after, a precocious young thing, roughly Edelgard’s age, who favored sparring with his friends and would return with bloody knees and a wide smile as he excitedly chattered to her. He’d taken to her quickly, no doubt desperate for a mother.

All she could offer him was a smile, as false as it was.

She could never accept this boy as her own, try as she might. In the few months she’d been with her new family, there was no connection she could forge with him. It was far too painful to even look upon him, to be reminded of her own flesh and blood, who was no doubt missing her.

Still, she tried. She would speak to him with nothing but kindness, offer him her support as best she could, patch his torn clothes. He’d often watch her during those moments, taking in the sight of her at the window as she stitched away, but never speaking once. He seemed taken with her.

She wished she could say the same for him.  


—

Nearly five months had passed before she was alerted that her brother had arrived, Edelgard in tow. The prospect of finally having her daughter safe and in her protection was all that mattered now.

The distance between her and Edelgard was stifling. She was physically in the Kingdom, and yet Patricia was barred all access to her. Lambert had been certain that no one would find out their secret, least of all someone who had ties to the Emperor and came with one of the imperial princesses to boot.

“I worry Lord Arundel may recognize you,” he’d argued when she said she wanted to go with them to their next outing. Dimitri had been pestering his father for some time to return, he seemed rather fond of Edelgard, and Lambert couldn’t deny the boy. “If he knows you, then I fear he may alert the Emperor. I know I was all bravado when you’d mentioned him before our marriage, but I do wish to keep you a secret.”

She almost scoffed at that. To be recognized was the entire purpose. To see her daughter, her brother, that was her only desire. And he was more than happy to tear that from her, unwittingly destroying her spirit.

So she tucked herself into the windowsill, stitching away until she’d pricked her fingers and stained her needlework.

Dimitri watched from a distance. As always, he said nothing.  


—

Many more months passed, and while Lambert and Dimitri were growing close to her family, all Patricia could sense was distance. It was utter torment, to hear the boy she would never accept chatter endlessly about her daughter, to describe the precious moments that she had missed because of this damned marriage she never truly desired.

“They really are quite fond of one another. The girl is quite a spitfire, but she’s certainly an excellent teacher for Dimitri. Did you know she’s teaching him to dance?” Lambert boasted, grinning from ear to ear. Yes, she did. Dimitri had made certain that she knew. Lambert carried on. “Perhaps there could be an arrangement, if they continue to remain close. Imagine, a crown prince and an imperial princess sharing a throne.”

All at once she could feel a tightness in her chest, a sense of panic and dread that consumed her. Was this Edelgard’s fate? Was she to be plucked by the prince?

No, she would not allow for that. There was not a single force in the world that would deter her mission to spare her daughter that fate.  


—

After what had felt like an eternity of this, Patricia felt almost ready to break. Each day bore a heavy toll on her, and she was becoming increasingly desperate for any end in sight.

That end would come in the form of Cornelia.

Patricia had heard of her deeds, how she’d been hailed as a savior. And now here she was, once again playing the role of a saint as she reached out to Patricia. How she came to know of her plight was something Patricia never bothered to question, so long as she was offered an end. And yet she knew all the same, almost to an uncomfortable degree.

“You must miss her, the poor thing,” she cooed. “And the little darling must miss her mother. Such a tragedy.”

“I do,” Patricia confessed. “But there is nothing to be done about it.”

“Oh? And what if I were to tell you that I may have a solution to what ails you? I am a miracle worker, after all,” she said, a slight edge to her tone, but the smile on her face remained as calculated and pleasant as ever.

Any end to her plight would be a blessing, and despite every nerve in her body begging her to not trust this woman, Patricia couldn’t help but ask “What sort of solution?”

“Lord Arundel intends to return to the Empire, and he intends to take Edelgard with him. Now that won’t do, will it? So I have a proposal instead, one that I think would benefit both you and him,” Cornelia said as she leaned in a bit closer, the corner of her lip twitching into a devious smirk.

Patricia’s heart thrummed nervously. No one had told her of this, and to deny Cornelia was to lose any chance she’d have of seeing her daughter ever again. So she allowed herself to continue this madness. “What would that be?”

“The prince, in exchange for your little girl.”

She hesitated. Was this really the deal? “For what purpose-?”

“Ah, ah,” Cornelia tutted. “That is not part of the agreement. All I need is your consent. The boy for your daughter. Surely this must be an easy choice.”

It was, almost perplexingly so. Patricia was stunned silent, which Cornelia took as her compliance. “All I need is for you to tell me when your husband intends to pay his next visit to your brother. Just one little thing, and your daughter is yours,” she goaded.

“Next week, on Tuesday,” Patricia said finally, breathless in her giddiness. This couldn’t possibly be real.

The smirk on Cornelia’s face was nothing short of wicked. “Excellent.”  


—

Lambert was inconsolable after that day. For the first time since she’d married him, he wept, loudly and openly. Messengers had been dispersed throughout the Kingdom, a desperate plea to find the prince, to return him home. 

In that moment, she wondered if she’d made the wrong choice.

That feeling dissipated immediately upon seeing Edelgard, who had been seemingly abandoned by her uncle and rescued by the king. She ran to embrace her, choking back her own sobs as she pulled her daughter into her arms. This was the moment of reckoning, and from behind her she could sense Lambert’s vexation.

Her heart stilled to a halt when he’d asked her to follow him to the throne room, the tone to his voice carrying an icy edge.

“And would you care to explain what that display was about?” he hissed once they were alone.

There it was. The moment of truth, no way to lie through this without carrying that burden forever. She’s carried enough burdens. “She’s my daughter,” she answered, firm in her resolve that this was the correct path.

He was stunned to say the least, and he stammered through his thoughts. “You never- why did you never mention her?”

“You would never let me see her!” she spat.

“You never once hinted you had children! If I’d known, I wouldn’t have…”

She almost choked. “Wouldn’t have what?”

“I wouldn’t have married you!” he said as he threw his hands in the air, as though admitting defeat. “To marry a foreign leader’s concubine was risky, to marry a foreign leader’s concubine that has already given him a child is borderline suicidal. By marrying you it would seem as though I’ve accepted her as a daughter, and therefore as a potential heir. It courts misunderstanding, and possibly begets war for which I have no time nor energy to invite, least of all with Dimitri’s disappearance!”

“You seemed so unbothered by all of my warnings before,” she said.

“And I should have listened,” he acknowledged. “But regardless, I have to take the initiative and set things right. I’m going to have our marriage annulled.”

While this was almost a dream come true, she couldn’t help but wonder what this meant for their status as refugees. Would Lambert send them away?

Upon being asked this, Lambert’s face contorted. “Send you away? If anything, I’ve planned for the opposite. Your daughter saw what happened, I intend to get answers.”

“So your intention is to keep us hostage, yet you speak of having no desire to court war?”

“There’s a difference to courting war because I made an error in judgment and being dragged into one because your nation had something to do with the disappearance of my son,” he spat, eyes ablaze with something she’d never seen before.

His tone did not settle well with her. “Beg pardon?”

“Do you really think it’s a coincidence? That my son is stolen from his home, and that very day your brother is nowhere to be found? Please don’t tell me you’re that much of a fool. If your husband seeks to start a war, then I have no choice but to act. I’ll destroy everything he holds dear, so long as it brings my son home safe.” In that moment, she couldn’t help but notice how alike they were. “I have no intention of going to war for you. I’d reconsider your vanity if you’re so deluded.” With that, he stormed out of the room, expression set in a feral grimace.

Again, she had to question if what she’d done was right.


	2. Pinioned

On the first day, Edelgard cried.

The hot sting of shame and the pricking of tears at the corners of her eyes as the king cajoled and pried and shouted at her for something, anything about the event was beyond humiliating. 

_Don’t lie to me! You saw something else, what are you trying to protect? Your uncle? Tell me!_

She hadn’t even noticed the tears until her mother intervened, and the king recoiled in horror with the realization that he was little more than a proverbial beast, terrifying a child.

His apologies ran hollow, mere lip service to appease his own bruised ego, apologies she had little choice but to accept. Silent, as though injured, she slunk away from that place, hardly able to register the growing din behind her as she scrubbed at those cursed tears. That stinging ache was something she vowed to never again feel. She would not let him break her again.

That evening, her mother had combed her hair for the first time in years and soothed her troubled heart, if only for the night.

“Worry not, El, I promise you nothing will harm you. I’ve missed you, dearest,” she’d whispered once the deed was finished and she swept those long brunette locks over her shoulder.

How she wished it could be so.

—

It wasn’t more than a week before Edelgard was made to understand the weight of her situation. The closed doors, the whispers and shouting from her mother and the man she had once seen as kind, the way the nobles and knights alike looked upon her as though she were a disease–all made her acutely aware she was not welcomed there. And yet, despite the lack of warmth, she could not leave. The few times she had made an effort to ask were met with cold indifference and outright rejection. Quickly, she had learned to hold her tongue and make no more inquiries, knowing it was an effort wasted and, worse yet, an argument between her mother and the king waiting to happen.

And how they argued! They had made a concerted effort to avoid such battles in front of her, but in the halls and corridors, just out of sight, she could hear them. It was though they reveled in the way they spat vitriol, as though conflict and hatred were the air they breathed. He was particularly fond of accusing her of lying to him, and she of retaliatory remarks. Her mother had always been patient to a fault, able to forgive any slight, no matter how egregious. But here she had found a new voice, a lion’s roar which served as her shield, intent on protecting that which was dearest.

Eventually, Edelgard learned to avoid the king if they occupied the same room. It wasn’t as though he were a friend to her any longer anyhow. He was colder now, determined to pick and pull her memories apart, to dissect every word she said about the incident as though there was anything new to glean from her tired tale.

Nights were spent with dreams of Dimitri, the mages in masks, how she wished she could have never witnessed the incident. How she wished he were still here, to hear his laugh as he apologized profusely for leading with the wrong foot or stepping on her toes, to guide him through the motions until her feet were sore and her heart full of joy.

—

A month felt as though it were an eternity. With the vanished prince and the lack of things to do in her room, Edelgard found herself quite bored. Needlework was too time consuming for such little joy it brought, and every book she’d been afforded had been read and reread to tatters. Begging to visit the library for more material proved fruitless, and exploring the castle, while entertaining enough, was beginning to become hazardous as she ventured further and further into the more enclosed areas.

She did, however, grow fond of the attic in the corridor near the prince’s room. Had she any friends, she would have doubtlessly brought them there to share secrets and stolen snacks.

Only once had she dared to venture further into the adjacent vacant room, out of curiosity, or perhaps desperation to find more books or toys. Anything to occupy her mind for a little while. Instead what she had been greeted by was weapons of all forms, diaries in the handwriting more befitting of a toddler than one their own age, decayed flowers she had gifted to him the week prior, and a furious king who snapped that she was never to return to that place.

So she stuck to the attic, secreting in the few precious things she’d managed to pilfer for entertainment: scraps of paper to draw on and little wooden soldiers she would line up and command.

From that attic she could peek outside, beyond the castle walls and into the town surrounding it. She was no longer allowed to tread outside of the walls, and it exacted a heavy toll on her adventurous spirit. At the very least the view offered her the tiniest peek into the forests nearby, and she could envision herself there, taking a walk or perhaps a picnic. Anything that would get her away from this place.

The only area that was remotely close to outdoors that she was permitted to go was the training grounds, and it steadily became a place of refuge. There she could listen to the birds, or the rustling of the wind in the trees until whatever group disrupted the peace by making use of the grounds.

It was there that she first learned to pick up a weapon.

In a rare moment of pity, Lambert noticed her boredom, and offered to train her to use a lance. While her mother didn’t object outright, the displeasure on her face was quite clear.

“You must grip it a bit firmer, with every swing you make you can see that it’s slipping,” he said as he watched her swing it, only to have it escape from her grasp and fly off into the corner. “Go pick it up and try again.”

“Was it any better than the last swing, at least?” she asked.

“Well, I suppose so. It didn’t fly quite as far this time,” he said with the vaguest hint of a laugh in his tone. “You’ve got the strength, you just need a better handle on the weapon.”

She beamed at that, and quickly scurried over to attempt the move once more.

This time it was a success.

Lambert was overjoyed. “Well done, Dimitri.” A pause. The look on his face said everything as he realized his error. 

The look on her mother’s was even worse.

“Anyhow, let’s pause here for the time being. There’s more I can show you tomorrow, if you so choose,” he said before swiftly exiting.

Her mother waited for a long, drawn out moment before she beckoned Edelgard to her side. Her fingers were gentle as she tucked Edelgard’s hair behind her ear, and knelt down to her level. “You will not be taking lessons from him again. Understood?”

“But it’s the first fun thing I’ve done in weeks,” Edelgard protested.

With stern eyes and furrowed brows, she held Edelgard’s gaze. “You are not to be that boy’s replacement. Do you understand, El?”

“Mother…”

“Edelgard, enough.”

“Well, what if I learned from someone else?” she pouted.

Her mother said nothing, and Edelgard accepted it as an answer. She would no longer be learning to fight.

—

In spite of her mother’s protests, Edelgard would not be stopped. The curious sense of power that came from being able to wield a weapon was a siren’s song that would not easily loosen its grip on her. So that evening she took to sneaking out in the late hours of the night, waiting until she knew her mother was asleep and the guards took their positions near the front gates.

It was reckless, she knew that much. Being caught out of bed would doubtlessly have the king position guards at her door. Yet the dangerous edge gave her a thrill all the same.

In the training grounds all was still, save for the faintest rustling of leaves in the trees as the evening chill set in and the winds began to grow. The grounds had been picked clean of training weapons for the evening, and stored in a small shed off to the side. The scraping of the wood against its hinges as she slowly slid the door open gave her a brief moment of shock. Her head snapped over her shoulder to ensure no one else had heard it, and she ducked inside, steadying her breath.

There, inside of the shed, was every form and shape of weapon she could ever hope to learn: bows and lances, swords and gauntlets. But her eyes drifted, caught by the axe. It seemed unwieldy, hardly befitting of someone of her stature. Perfect.

Without a second thought she grabbed it and dragged it outside, impressed by the weight of it. Her limited experience with a lance would have no bearing here, everything she learned would be her own. 

That excited her.

She would have to be careful, lest the weapon slip and clatter, and she remembered what she was told about her grip. 

_Firm, steady_, she reminded herself, positioning herself to take the first swing.

The rush that flooded through her as the axe fell was indescribable, as though she could tear down any barrier. Powerful, alight with nervous, hopeful, unbound energy; it was everything she’d been craving since she’d been shoved into her gilded cage. Again she stepped forward, taking another swing, savoring the exhilaration that blossomed from deep within with each successive movement. 

_Again, again, again._

She grit her teeth as her fingers tightened around the handle of the axe and she took another swing. The imaginary combatants slowly shifted to forms more familiar, concepts and hatred made flesh. Her anger towards Lambert, his choice to make her captive. Her disappointment in her mother, helpless to change her fate. Her unfettered wrath towards those who had stolen away the only friend she had in the Kingdom, begetting these sins. All began to manifest, shadowy figures for her to tear through as she swung blindly through the air. In her chest stirred a silent roar, loud in her ears and given form through her heartbeat.

One by one she carved her way through those thoughts, until her arms could take no more and her body ached with the sting of exertion. On the horizon was the thinnest edge of daybreak peeking in, gently reminding her to go back inside. Back to her cage, where people would disappoint her and she would have another day of monotony. Very well. If this was what needed to be, to become her own teacher in the dead of night, then she would gladly accept that.

No one would take this away from her, she would not be kept tame.

—

In the long months that followed, visitors became frequent in the castle, a change that Edelgard welcomed.

The first to arrive had been House Fraldarius, the members of which would eventually become something of a permanent fixture in the palace. Rodrigue, being the closest friend to the king, had prompted a sense of excitement Lambert hadn’t shown in quite some time, a genuine smile gracing his lips as the two greeted one another. Behind him was a pair of boys, the family resemblance certainly strong in their faces and hair color. The king immediately took up a conversation, more at ease than he’d ever been as he dragged the group towards the dining hall for dinner and tucked himself in the corner with his friend, leaving Edelgard near the boys.

She could feel their eyes upon her. The younger boy in particular seemed to watch her with interest, but never once spoke, instead opting to sulk as his brother attempted to coax him into eating something throughout the entirety of the meal before snatching the younger boy’s dessert for himself with no protest from the boy.

Frustrated, Edelgard made her escape for the training grounds, hoping the chill of the evening would keep the guests at bay. For perhaps an hour she did have that peace before the pair stumbled in, weapons in hand as they spoke in hushed tones and prepared themselves for their practice.

Feeling particularly bold, and bored, she took a deep breath, and made the plunge to approach the younger brother, hoping that conversation could ease the tension. The pair looked quizzical as she made her advance, palm outstretched. “I’m Edelgard, and you are?”

The younger boy paused, as though thinking, and opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the older brother. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Glenn–” the younger one said, wide-eyed.

“You’re the little girl that the prince used to talk about, aren’t you? The one that was also there when he went missing?” he goaded, turning to face her, eyes cold as iron. “The one who conveniently can’t recall anything about it?” Her heart was thrumming, an anxious thing dancing wildly in her chest as she backed away. The deepest voice within her begged to lash out, to decry his words. _It’s not my fault_, she wanted to shriek, to flail her fists, to bloody his nose while he least expected it. _It’s not my fault!_ Instead she said nothing, swallowing those bitter urges, knowing such violence was fruitless. From behind him, the younger brother tugged on Glenn’s sleeves, begging him to stop, to go back inside. Glenn, however, was not quite so merciful. “Why is that? Are you just dumb, or are you lying?”

Swallowing thickly, she backed away, damning that sensation of dread trickling down her spine. Frozen, unable to speak, she simply stood there under his furious gaze, defiantly refusing to flee, to break. He scoffed and turned away. Bidding his brother a brief goodbye, he walked inside, leaving her and the younger brother alone.

For a long, uncomfortable moment there was nothing but the howl of the wind as the boy slowly approached her, in the manner one would an injured animal. “I’m sorry,” was what eventually broke that silence, barely audible.

“Is he always that mean?” she managed to choke out once the hammering in her chest had been quieted to a dull roar. Her voice seemed foreign to her own ears, laced with the faintest tinge of fear she would never once admit to knowing.

“Yeah, sometimes,” the boy said, looking down at his shoes. “He’s just looking for a fight.” Another drawn out of moment of silence lingered, and the boy’s gaze remained away from her, as though terrified to look upon her. “You said your name was Edelgard, right?”

“That’s correct,” she said softly, her own gaze averted as she took in the gentle drifting of the snowfall.

“Dimitri used to write to me about you sometimes. He said you were really nice.” A pause, the faint sound of him scuffing his shoes drifted to her ears. “I didn’t get to see him, before it happened. I miss him.” She looked at him then, noting the way his eyes welled with tears as his hands clenched against the fabric of his coat. It had never occurred to her to ask Dimitri about his friends, perhaps it was all a selfish desire to pretend that she was just as much his only friend as he was hers, that she could occupy his hours without having to consider his other obligations. Another part of her had to wonder why he’d never mentioned them to her in the first place. Now, being forced to interact with one of them, she felt out of place, uncertain.

The boy wiped at his face, hiccuping a brief noise of discontent before he turned to her. “I’m going inside. Sorry about Glenn.”

“Wait, don’t you want to train?” she asked, desperate, though for what she wasn’t certain. Companionship? Respite from her boredom? Any sort of human contact that wasn’t scathing, critical?

“Not anymore,” he said.

And once more, she was left alone.

—

Shortly following the arrival of the Fraldarius family was that of House Galatea. Having been burnt once, Edelgard made no move to approach the girl that arrived alongside the Count. The eyes that she could feel on her were icy, often hidden behind the pages of a book, yet would peer over the top of them whenever the owner thought Edelgard hadn’t taken notice. Often she would spend time next to Glenn, alight with such joy when he spoke to her. The younger brother–Felix, she had come to learn–had made some attempt at swaying her into speaking to Edelgard, but to little success.

Eventually, he had managed to convince her to at least make a proper introduction, as forced as it was. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Ingrid said stiffly, only offering her a hand out of a sense of propriety, a gesture that Edelgard returned with equal discomfort. Again she could feel those eyes boring into her, as though attempting to gauge her intentions. Just what had been spoken of about her? What affront had she committed to draw such ire? Or perhaps this was simply the way of the Kingdom: the landscape was frigid and the people doubly so.

There was one, however, that had made some effort to meet her on his own terms. A red-haired boy who had been eyeing her upon arrival, one that her mother seemed quite wary of, if the way she watched him flit about the room from one person to the next was any indication.

When he’d finally approached her, it was with an admittedly charming smile, something she hadn’t seen on a stranger in quite some time. “Well hello, I couldn’t help but notice that such a cute girl like you shouldn’t be sitting alone. I’m Sylvain, what’s your name?” he asked, extending her his hand and a wink.

“Edelgard,” she answered, accepting his hand for only the briefest of moments. He looked to be a little bit older than the others, perhaps Glenn’s age.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady. Tell me, what is it you’re doing here?” he said, almost practiced in his ease as he sat beside her. The way he so casually treated her was disconcerting after the weeks of scrutiny. It was unfathomable to think he hadn’t heard the whispers, been told the stories. The conversation after that was simple, almost perplexingly so, about topics of curiosity: her hobbies, her family, her time spent in the palace. Everything about him rang hollow, from his idle flattery to his friendly exterior, with a certain sense of falsity in each kind word he spoke. Such suspicions carried some truth, the illusion shattered when he’d moved on to the next girl and, once he’d believed himself to be out of earshot, reiterated the same sentiment to her, line for line.

“He’s been like that forever,” Felix had told her that evening, after she’d managed to persuade him to spar with her. Their first match had only lasted more than a minute; he, with much more formal training than her, had managed to disarm her with such fluid ease despite her best efforts and the full weight of her fury behind each blow. Glenn had been quite proud of that, offering his support from the sidelines and pulling him aside to offer further instruction. Edelgard huffed, watching the two with no small measure of jealousy, and a sense of wonder just how far along she would have come if she too had been given instruction.

The second match she again was knocked down swiftly, hissing with the exertion as she collapsed to her knees and swung wildly in her mounting frustration.

In the third match she let go of that anger, instead opting for better focus, honing her wits and attempting to parry rather than be on the offense. While she had lost, she made no small note that she’d managed to last longer in this particular round. Was that how it was done, then? Dispassionate calculation rather than fury and brash assault?

Felix approached her then, palm outstretched to help her off the ground. She waved him off, and pushed herself up, grimacing at the ache. “I didn’t know you’d be that good,” she grumbled, still sour from the losses.

“I’m not yet, I need to keep training. You did well for someone who hasn’t actually fought another person,” he said.

She hadn’t told him that, and she wasn’t particularly interested in asking how he had known, so she accepted that acknowledgment with a soft huff and a brief thanks. “Next time, I’ll beat you,” she vowed, brushing the dust off her outfit.

He beamed at that, a certain fire in his eyes at the prospect of having a rival. “Then I’ll just have to train harder.”

After that day there was something of an understanding between the pair of them, with Glenn often acting as a spectator whenever they had come to spar. It was odd to have a friendship bloom out of such circumstances, but it was one that she would not trade for anything. He was sharp, with a wit that could cut almost as deeply as his skills with a blade, and receiving letters from him and had quickly become a highlight in her days.

As grateful as she was for his companionship, she could only offer her own in pieces. Her mother, in her own paranoid, loving way, had forbade the Edelgard speak too deeply about herself to him. At first it seemed twisted, but as she time wore on, she could understand why her mother had made it so. 

She was little more than a prisoner here, to grow too close to her captors was to invite misery.

—

Within the year the efforts to stoke the flames of war had grown considerably, and Duscur became the largest target for recruitment. With a poor, desolate landscape such as Faerghus came a desperation for assistance, lest resources grow scarcer. But such luxuries could hardly be afforded now. After all, the abduction of one of the members of the royal family on the Empire’s part was an abject declaration of war, as was the Kingdom’s retaliatory retention of hostages. However, it was seemingly only in name that such a thing had come to fruition. No troops from either nation had made motion to invade, and neither nation was able to come to parley, despite the insistence from a multitude of advisors for such a course.

Lambert was obstinate, little able to sway him from his course towards a direct collision with the Empire aside from Rodrigue, who was able to ply the increasingly erratic king with sound advice and an unwavering sense of camaraderie. Edelgard supposed in some sense he was her greatest ally, even if entirely unaffiliated, for he seemed to be the only true thing left standing between Lambert and his desire for the destruction of her home. At his behest, the king was compliant enough to continue seeking peaceful alternatives, and the letters calling for an exchange of hostages became his primary weapon, his courtship of Duscur his shield, should there continue to be no response.

For his part, Lambert could not understand why the Empire was so resistant to an exchange. For what had been perhaps the hundredth time that year he’d sent a messenger with the desire to avoid coming to blows over the incident, and he had once again been greeted with little more than stony silence. She recalled well the grimace he had made when the courier had returned, pale in the face as he explained how there had been no one to greet him or accept his message, that silent, brooding rage only discernible in the briefest glint in Lambert’s eyes before he’d dismissed the man. 

Edelgard herself was shocked, surely the Empire had no intention of allowing for war, surely they had nothing to do with the abduction of the prince. Surely her father had no intention of allowing her to stay here, locked away in her misery. Her mother, however, remained utterly pessimistic about the entire situation. Edelgard knew her father had been deposed, her uncle had made that clear enough in their travels, but to think that those who were behind the throne were so disinterested in avoiding conflict, so unaffected by the chaos they sowed left her seething. 

In the late hours of the night she took up her weapon, wondering what it must feel like to strike another human, to watch them die at her hands. Did they seek pleasure from it? Was there perhaps something she did not know? She shuddered at the thought, hoping she never would. But this was not a time of peace, was it? Even if she were home, she would doubtlessly be given a sword, told to go forth and train for the glory of Adestria, that she might one day stride into battle and slay those who would oppose them. She swung it, imagining what it would feel like to tear through flesh, utterly viceral, devoid of compassion. Perhaps that wasn’t it, there certainly couldn’t be joy in that act, it had to have been some other motivator for it. 

Pride, certainly; ideology, absolutely.

Perhaps there would be a time she would understand it, that awful necessity to spill blood. Perhaps with time she herself would even participate, if given the proper incentive. She shuddered, the bitter chill of winter setting in too deep and dulling her grip. Now was the time to return, before she lost grasp of the axe.

Voices greeted her as she slid back into the hall, and she froze, terrified. From the dining hall they drifted in, a room which she had little choice but to maneuver past if she wanted to hide her evening activities. Yet curiosity began to coil deep within her, a strange urge to know exactly who it was that would dare to be up at such an hour besides herself. So she peered in, certain the dark of the hallway hid her well enough, and that the occupants were distracted enough by their conversation. 

There, in the glow of a single candle, sat the king and his greatest friend, a bottle of wine between the pair as the king rubbed his temples, exhaustion painting his countenance. Apparently, he had returned home early from his current campaign in Duscur, and was seemingly none too pleased about it.

“I simply don’t know what came over me,” he grumbled, downing the rest of his glass before setting his hands on the bottle to replenish it.

“Your majesty—”

“Enough with that nonsense. Speak to me plainly, I’ve got enough of a headache as it stands,” Lambert said.

“And that, I presume, is what the wine aims to cure?” Rodrigue laughed. The king made no reply, only a noise somewhere between quiet indignation and amusement. “Lambert, perhaps you should consider a pause in the campaign, at least until you’ve rested.”

“Unthinkable. Every moment wasted is a moment my son is in the hands of some nefarious dog of the Empire, and I’ve wasted far too much time as it is,” he spat–hateful, venomous. She could feel herself beginning to recoil, the mere intonation enough to convey his intent for her homeland.

“And what good do you intend to do in this state?” Rodrigue asked, entirely unphased.

“I intend to press forward. There’s little else I can do,” Lambert said, the grief in his voice heavy.

“Not in your condition. Send another in your stead,” Rodrigue said stiffly.

“Another? Absolutely not, these negotiations are critical, and I would think you of all people would understand that. You’ve pushed and pleaded for me to approach Duscur for aid, and I agreed. And now you’re asking me to send another?” In a drunken carelessness he gesticulated, knocking over the bottle and cursing to himself as it spattered across the table, onto his lap. Edelgard held her tongue, and slid back, pressing herself to the wall and hoping he hadn’t made notice of her when he’d stood to attempt to clean himself. The heavy thrum of her heart made it uncertain just how loud her breath was, and she clung to herself as the dread lessened with each passing moment, increasing the certainty that neither of the men had taken note of her presence. Instead they were chattering again, arguing really, though far more restrained.

“I’m only asking you consider it,” Rodrigue said.

“I cannot. I simply cannot. Every moment wasted is inexcusable. I will never be able to bring myself to face him if I don’t do everything within my power,” Lambert said.

“And you have–”

“Do not coddle me, Rodrigue. I’ve achieved nothing. I’ve accepted my failings to him,” he said, a long, drawn out sigh following. “It was his birthday. Three days ago. And the only thing I could think was how I’ve failed him. He should have been here, with his little friends, with Felix, out fighting in the garden. He should have been here with me, and instead he’s out there, likely terrified, wondering why his father still hasn’t saved him,” he rambled, slurring through the thought with increasing incoherency as he covered his face with his hands, liquid trickling between the fingers as he silently heaved and shuddered.

It was surreal to watch a man she had feared for so long to break in this manner, to know that his mask was just as easily cracked as any other when put under the same pressure. And yet there was little pity she found in her heart for him. Hatred, anger, a year’s worth of resentment, none were so easily dismissed. Perhaps it was callous of her, but she found she couldn’t be bothered. 

Slowly, she made her exit to return to her room, the echoing lament ringing through those empty, cold halls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the responses last chapter, it really meant a lot!  
Also, the fact that young Felix was described as “meek” and “a crybaby” until his attitude shifted with Glenn’s death will never cease to hurt me.


	3. Recollection

Even in the spring, Faerghus had a certain chill that, while she hadn’t minded it much in the past few years she’d lived here, now was beginning to fill her with a nostalgic sense of longing. Longing for home, where she could run barefoot through the grass and simply enjoy the warmth of the sun against her skin. It was often during days like these—where the frost and cold had made their way to her bones and nary a bloom could be spotted—that her thoughts would stray towards her family. 

It was always in the spring, when her brothers would have a lull in their training regiments and she and her sisters would sneak off from their studies, that they would truly come to enjoy one another’s company. There had been countless differences between them—rank and station, age and duty—but those days had always served as a reminder that they were a family. It was in those balmy, bright hours that they would travel down to the nearby lake, picnics in hand. She and her sisters would sit by the banks of the river, the cool waters lapping at them as they’d braid each other’s hair and weave stories of their individual lives. Other days, she and her two brothers would race around in the water, sending errant splashes towards those who preferred to remain dry, eliciting scandalized squeals and giggles.

Here, however, in the dismal state of eternal winter, those days were little more than distant memories. With each successive day, the inevitability of war grew, and with it, a profound sense of unease that she would never admit to knowing. The halls had grown laden with soldiers from all corners of the Kingdom, champions for their respective houses, something to which she spared little thought. Now she only kept vague tallies of which ones had been needlessly callous. The haven she had found in the training grounds was compromised, and once more she was forced to retreat to the attic. It was days like these–where the sounds of steel-toed boots marching would wake her from her reveries–that she would once more turn her thoughts towards her family. No longer were they colored by the rosy lens of nostalgia, but by the bleak one of the present and that ever hazy tint of the uncertain future.

Would her oldest brother ride into battle? Would her youngest sister bear witness? Which members of the family would her father have to bury once the score was settled?

Such speculation only served to abet her growing anxiety, allowing it to deeply root within her and twist until it held her heart in a vice. So she instead opted to redouble her efforts on her hobbies, avoiding confrontation with those thoughts. To give in to despair was to void herself of what little agency she had left, and such a thing was unthinkable.

_Never again,_ she reminded herself, over and over as she swung her axe into the inky shadows of the dark each night, exerting herself until the intrusions were little more than a hum. 

_Never again, never again, never again._

—

Felix, whenever he was available, helped maintain a steady distraction, and was more than willing to drag her away for impromptu sparring matches whenever there were any particularly nasty individuals. His brother, being firm in his belief that she was guilty by association to the Empire, couldn’t understand their cautious yet mutually beneficial arrangement, but had thankfully learned to hold that wicked tongue. Though part of her did have to question how much of it was truly of his own volition and how much had been because of his recent employment as a knight in the king’s company.

Soon it had become routine. Felix invariably would initiate a challenge, and she would eagerly accept. And, invariably, she would lose. Though her form had become more refined and her senses made more keen, his several years worth of experience had given him the upper hand.

Tonight was hardly an exception; Felix tugged at her sleeves during dinner to ask if she was interested in a match before promptly setting his sweet roll onto her plate with little fanfare. He’d made a habit of it, which she could hardly complain about, even if his distaste for sweets was foreign to her.

The newfound busyness of the training grounds prevented them from making use of it, so he instead dragged her to the courtyard outside of the entrance, hardly a place she was allowed to be. Still, she couldn’t find it in her to complain, preferring to think of it as a small sort of rebellion on her part. From his corner, he readied himself, eyes razor focused on her as he drew his blade. She mirrored him, axe in hand as she awaited his first attack, parrying with a now practiced ease. Blow for blow she was able to meet him, ever focused on anticipating his next move until she had managed to lock blades. With every ounce of strength she had, she shoved her axe upwards, and both weapons clattered to the floor as she stumbled. A draw.

Their widened eyes met, both equally amazed at what had just transpired. Breathless, ecstatic, she felt a grin easing across her lips, and soft hum of contentment escaping her throat.

“You did great, Edelgard. I really thought you had me,” he said, matching that smile with one of his own.

“I can’t believe it! I know it wasn’t a win, but still,” she said, the genuine excitement coursing through her veins something she hadn’t enjoyed in ages now. “Now, pick up your sword. I intend to win this one.”

Once more she positioned herself to parry before the sound of hooves disrupted their focus. There, in the forests and swiftly advancing, riders, which Felix offered a quick wave before charging up to embrace the first to dismount.

“I see you’ve been practicing,” Glenn said, pushing his hood down before playfully tousling Felix’s hair.

“Maybe I simply enjoy practicing with someone that isn’t you,” Felix retorted with a grin, smoothing his disheveled hair.

“Oh, don’t be a brat,” Glenn scoffed, still smiling as he turned to remove the saddle from his horse and hand the reins to the approaching stable attendants.

From behind her, a voice rang out, equal in measure of relief and concern. “Back again, and still as exhausted as ever,” Rodrigue said as he stepped forward into view. “It seems that no matter how much I mention it, you never listen.”

“When have I ever?” Lambert said, a weary but affectionate smile on his lips as he too began to dismount. He made a brief note of Edelgard’s presence, if the glance and quick nod were anything to go by, but said nothing on the matter, which she supposed she was grateful for.

“Indeed, perhaps that is a lesson I should have learned years ago,” Rodrigue chuckled, though somewhat dryly. “Tell me, what news do you have now?”

“Very little, I’m afraid. There’s still quite a fair amount of uncertainty between the various regions. The bordering parts seem amenable to our cause, while the northernmost cities are less so,” Lambert said, motioning for his horse to be stabled before staggering forward. “But that is something we can discuss privately. Tell me, has Rufus been giving you much trouble?”

“Trouble? Hardly. He hasn’t been doing much of note since you’ve given him the position of regent,” Rodrigue scoffed, folding his arms over his chest.

Edelgard hadn’t even known there was a regent in place, despite how customary the practice was, and for a moment she almost had to laugh at the absurdity. Rather, she had been of the belief that Rodrigue himself was filling the role, in duty anyhow. Certainly not in name. Was the one appointed truly so ineffectual that his presence could go entirely unheeded? Whatever amusement she did find in the thought was stifled, lest they know she was eavesdropping.

“I suppose that’s to be expected, he’s far too concerned over who will next be warming his bed to concern himself with politics,” Lambert snorted, derisive. The two made haste towards the castle, continuing on, though what little she could overhear was muddled, and then halted as her attention snapped behind her with the sound of footsteps.

“Felix tells me you’ve improved. I suppose congratulations are in order,” Glenn said, surprisingly devoid of his usual sarcastic tone.

Taken aback, she could only bob her head in acknowledgement.

His reply was curt, words that she hardly registered before he turned away to attend to his king. “Thank you for helping him when I’m not here.”

Cool air whipped past her as Felix gave chase to issue a challenge towards Glenn, a steady stream of amicable bickering left in their wake, fading into the distance.

And, for just a moment, she could almost hear her brothers.

—

The blooms in summer were lovely, though oddly evocative. Perhaps the only season in Faerghus that wasn’t frigid, she’d once been so elated by it; to race about the nearby thickets and spot as many strange flowers that would never grow in Enbarr. Now it simply seemed to serve as a reminder of the things she could no longer enjoy.

Birthdays had once been a source of tremendous joy, where her siblings would come to take moments from their busy routines to give her gifts and offer praises. Now they offered nothing other than to mark a passage of time within these confines, a day where only her mother would whisper well wishes and request servants to find her flowers. They’d all been dried and pressed, with hopes that they might continue to add color to an otherwise dreary world. Images of the once vivid forests she had traversed here, so long ago now, were called to mind as she peered into those pages now dead flowers.

Was this how she was to content herself? With dead flowers while the living ones were so close?

So she’d made up her mind. No longer would she waste time, withering away in these walls. She would see the blooms, just once before the dwindling days of summer came to an end. She’d proven night after night to be inconspicuous enough to sneak around the castle with little notice made to her comings and goings. With the king having been gone for several weeks, now looked to be the perfect time to put such a skill to use. 

So it was when Sylvain, being the wandering spirit that he was, had offered an excursion into town alongside himself and Felix, she took that opportunity. He’d been rightfully surprised upon her acceptance, having been given time and time again the same protest of “I can’t, you know that.”

“What’s changed?” he asked as the group began their journey.

“I want to go to the forest,” she insisted, unshaken in her determination, though the rest of the party forbid the notion.

“It’s more than half a day’s walk from here,” Sylvain said with a shrug upon seeing her undisguisable disappointment, absentmindedly rubbing at a fresh bruise on his jaw. When he’d been asked about it, he’d unconvincingly brushed the question off with the answer that it had been some girl, and she hadn’t any gall to push the issue further. “And I’m afraid I’m ill equipped for a fight if we were to run into anyone unsavory in those woods. Maybe next time, when Glenn is home, okay?”

_‘Why can’t we ask your brother instead?’_ she wanted to ask, but said nothing. Protesting Glenn’s presence would be useless at best, and offensive at worst. 

The mere mention of his brother was enough to draw a frown from Felix, the frightened crease in his brow eliciting a small pang of sympathy from within. 

Sylvain reached a hand out to him, offering a reassuring pat to his shoulder. “Hey, he’ll be home soon enough, no need for the pouting. What do you think he would say if he saw you crying?”

“I’m worried is all,” Felix deflected.

“You don’t have to be. He’s set the standard high for what a knight can achieve,” Sylvain said, ruffling a reassuring hand through Felix’s hair, to great protest.

When he’d finally gathered himself, Felix asked, “Where is Ingrid? She’s in the castle, isn’t she? She usually comes with us...”

“Training,” Sylvain said, glancing over towards Edelgard, the tone very much the same one he always had whenever he was making excuses. No doubt this one was to spare her feelings. “Glenn’s inspired her. That, and the thorough loss she had when she tried to spar with him last month.”

That was enough to placate Felix and to stir her imaginings. Without doubt, it was because of her presence that Ingrid hadn’t wished to attend.

_‘You’re an outsider,’_ she reminded herself, her attention drifting away from her companions and their chatter and towards the landscape. Verdant leaves and fields dappled with daisies, a sight not uncommon in the Adestrian Empire, but one sorely missed now. She could hardly resist the siren’s call as she strayed from the group for a few moments to grab as many as she could before they started asking questions. Some of them would be gifts for mother, and the rest would be hers to keep, to adorn her attic until it came time for them to be preserved. And so it went, they’d travel, and every so often she would race off to gather whatever new flower she’d spot that hadn’t yet been added to her collection. By the time they had made it to the city center, she’d gathered a fair fistful, and deemed the excursion well worth the effort.

The city was teeming with life, the joyous shouts of children passing by and the brightly lit skies a drastic contrast to the usual somber air of the castle. Idle thoughts about Enbarr, which she couldn’t help but note was not too dissimilar from this place, drifted through her mind. She could still picture it, vivid and clear. The church, though she’d never held any particular interest in the faith; the opera house, despite having only been once; the many prestigious, well-maintained houses of the nobles, where they’d reside throughout various times of the year. 

_When will I next get to see those things?_

A thought for later, she decided. Not here, when she was supposed to be enjoying herself for once.

Having no pocket money, she had no true sense of desire to wander in Fhirdiad, but the old memories she had here once were pleasant enough to warrant staying. The bakery that she’d once frequented still stood–though doubtlessly the man who ran it would no longer remember her–as did the library, where she’d spent many hours poring over the myths and legends of the area. It had been one of the first places Dimitri had brought her when they’d first met. 

She had been stubborn, arrogant even, upon their introduction, and hardly aware he was royalty—though in her own defense she hadn’t been made aware of such a thing until he’d vanished. Still, she did hold some level of embarrassment and, surprisingly, amusement regarding her initial behavior, particularly how bossy she had been. He had been kind, giving, equal in measure to her headstrong temperament, eventually wearing down that harsh exterior she’d brandished like a shield. From then on it had become a mutual friendship, one where he would teach her about the local myths and legends, and she would teach him how to dance, though she would be reluctant to admit that it had eventually become more for her own enjoyment than his benefit. He was an excellent study, likely from the years of footwork required for swordplay, and moreover, an excellent friend, one she felt at ease confiding in during the leisurely moments where they’d wander aimlessly through town.

Odd, how even now the memory of it still stirred the same feelings it had in the past. In her chest, an inexplicable sense of warmth blossomed, undeniable yet perplexing. She’d never once cared to place those feelings before, and she couldn’t bring herself to dare now, for fear of what she may uncover, lest it further pain her. 

Later. When the sting was dulled and the pain a mere scar. Only then would she consider the implications of that sensation.

—

The fiery orange glow of the sunset lit their path as they returned home, the colors shifting until naught but muted purples and hazy blues remained and they’d stepped into the corridors of the entrance. Everything was deafening, overwhelmingly so, a sea of voices clamoring to be heard, even through the heavy material of the oaken doors that guarded the throne room. This did not go unnoticed by her companions, who also seemed to have misgivings with the atmosphere. Their confused gazes wandered the room, as though in search for someone.

Felix was partially tempted to peek in, hoping to identify that his brother was there amongst them, but they were quickly spotted by the troublesome maids.

“This is no place for children, upstairs, quickly,” they urged, and with little power to resist them, they were ushered away, the noise still audible even at such a distance, dampening the usual quiet hum of crickets.

Her mother, wide-eyed, quickly gathered Edelgard into her arms. “Never sneak off like that again, you terrified me,” she whispered once they were alone in her room, her trembling hands combing nervously through her hair, now streaked with fine silver hairs that hadn’t been there the year prior.

“I’m sorry, I wanted–” she began, offering the flowers she’d gathered as something of a motion of peace.

“El, you cannot behave that way. You may be young, but to them, you’re an enemy. I will not lose you,” she said, wringing her hands before taking Edelgard’s into her grasp, the daisies falling uselessly to the ground. “Promise here and now that you will never attempt such a thing again.”

“I don’t want to promise!” she huffed, pulling her hands away and kneeling to gather her scattered gift. “I don’t want to be here at all!”

A soft sigh of understanding followed while a frown played at the corner of her mother’s lips, a look she now wore with a practiced grace. “I know.”

And that was all there ever was. Knowing. Her heart crumbled just a little. It was unfair to put her mother in this position—she understood fully there was nothing her mother could do and yet she demanded it anyways. Still, the passivity her mother relied on was not the solution Edelgard sought, though perhaps it was the one that best suited their situation.

Her mother smiled then, somber and weary, and again pulled her close, wrapping her fingers around Edelgard’s own and taking the flowers. “Thank you for the gift, you’re growing into such a thoughtful young woman. I am proud of you, even if you may not think so.”

Edelgard simply nodded, watching her mother gently place the flowers on her dressing table and examine her own reflection for a short moment. In the flickering glow of her candle, she seemed almost ethereal, immeasurably stunning to Edelgard’s mind, though the look on her face was as readable though it were words upon parchment. _‘She thinks I’m a coward. She must hate me,’_ it said, quiet disappointment legible there.

Words, unable to form, remained unspoken, and instead she wrapped her arms around her mother, in hopes that the gesture could speak the things that she could not.

_I don’t. I never will._

—

There were many storied reasons to despise the fall. It had always been her least favorite period of time within the year. Summer was teeming with life, vibrancy, while the changing of the seasons proclaimed an end to the things she wished she could hold forever—the bright days and warmth.

It had been autumn when she was first made to leave the Adestrian Empire, the season further tainted with the memory of being torn from everything she had loved. It had been dark, the night their cover as her uncle awoke her and secreted her from the castle under the vague promise that they were going out to find her mother. She’d been convinced they were simply fetching her mother and returning her home, where she belonged, hardly had Edelgard been under the belief that she’d willingly run off to an entirely new nation. As an Emperor’s consort, to flee was to forever be branded as a traitor, never to return, lest she seek her own execution. 

Surely her mother would have never considered the notion.

Had she been more attentive, the fading cityscape into the woods perhaps would have served as a warning. But her eyes had been heavy with sleep, and she drifted off, awakening hours later and several miles away from anything she’d recognized. It had been the first time she’d ever been beyond the city’s limits, and surely that must have meant the journey was nearing its end. But hours had dragged into days, and days into weeks before she’d accepted her fate. Was she now to labeled a traitor, barred from her family forever?

Certainly not, she’d argued. They would understand, it hadn’t been a willing escape, instead coerced by her well-meaning uncle. In retrospect, he’d put himself at great risk to reunite them, but she hadn’t been appreciative of the effort in the moment, and certainly not appreciative of their new residence.

The home they’d inhabited in Fhirdiad had been her first prison, in the loosest sense of the term. Nothing was barred to her, yet she had nowhere to go, no one to see, and nothing to do. So she waited, ever in a perpetual state of boredom and dissatisfaction, often accompanied by the musings of where her mother was in this ordeal. 

That had been years ago now, but the acrid taste still lingered, infecting what was otherwise a season she could have doubtlessly learned to love.

Though certainly if not that, then what was beginning to unfold now was enough to forever lay ruin to whatever fleeting sentiment she may have conjured regarding the season. Lambert had been made aware of her little excursion into town, and thusly increased security by the castle entrance, forever barring access to the outside world. She’d half anticipated him to lose his temper, just as he had when she’d first arrived. Instead there was nothing, no reprimand nor anger, simply acknowledgement of the event as something of minor inconvenience, as though she no longer truly existed in his larger consciousness.

In a sense, that may have been true. More ghost than man, he haunted the halls infrequently, with no truly discernible pattern to his comings and goings; all of which gave great anxiety to Rodrigue, whose continuous pleas for him to rest, to send another in his stead could be heard echoing the halls at odd hours.

Just as they’d arrived, the soldiers disappeared; without warning and in great numbers, a reflection of the shifting priorities in an ever dynamic war. What remained was a small number of elites—the king’s personal company of knights and advisors. Though with the exodus of the soldiers she was once more able to lay claim to her lost sanctuary of the training grounds, it never did quite feel the same. The ghosts of what had once been there still lingered, fouling the atmosphere of wondrous discovery that it’d once held.

News of expanding efforts to initiate combat at the border spread prolifically, though fact and fiction were growing increasingly indiscernible. Everything she’d heard had been filtered through the few maids who were willing to spare her mother what little information they had, and accounts varied between them. Though one thing had been unanimous in their gossip: it had been uncertain who had been the first to begin the skirmish. 

Though it was little more than a glorified dispute, it would likely not remain so small in the coming days. Quarrels like these always found a way to escalate, even during times of good relations, and Lambert saw little benefit in finding resolve. 

“The sooner we engage, the sooner it can be finished. I’ve had more than enough of remaining in this stalemate with the Empire,” he’d been quoted to have said. “The fact that they have yet to initiate anything leads me to believe they’re not quite as strong as they’d like us to think they are.”

There’d been some rebuttal, as well as some attempt to continue the efforts with Duscur, but nothing so impactful that could sway the king. Eventually, it had been decided that the king would make one last attempt on swaying Duscur, and the knights would make their way to the southern border near Gaspard territory, as a means to secure the area against whatever wave of enemies would approach next. Though she’d never been, she knew well that it was near the lands held by the Arundel family—her uncle had never been a particularly riveting story teller and usually would default to uninteresting explanations of history. 

Just what was to become of that place, now that her uncle had simply vanished? Logically, it would have been granted to the nearest title holding noble, considering that her uncle had never named an heir. Or perhaps it had been divided amongst the victors behind the insurrection upon discovery that he had fled. Whatever the case may be, that place was now in danger, and its guardian had been long forgotten.

Just what had become of him, anyways?

They’d never been exceptionally close, but there had been an understanding shared between them—a bond, forged through shared hardship. Months together on the road had proven difficult for the both of them, with her disposition for trouble-making and stubborn temperament, and with his strict outlook on life and unsolicited guidance she felt she never needed. Having no children of his own, he was hardly in his area of expertise, and as an awkward, pious man, he’d certainly hadn’t been an exhilarating person to share a carriage with for hours without end. Still, necessity had prevailed, and through proximity came understanding. He’d grown more patient towards her whims, more compassionate in his approach to her, and she in turn had grown less troublesome, more accepting of his role as her guardian for the time being.

Wherever he was now, she wondered if he ever thought of those days. Likely not. She hadn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took quite a while.
> 
> Thanks for being patient with me!
> 
> And a massive thank you to you all for the responses to the last chapter! You’re all amazing!

**Author's Note:**

> Basically the ‘Edelgard stays in the Kingdom’ AU I’ve wanted to see with an angsty twist because I can’t help myself. I may do a much more fluffy set of one shots for the concept later.


End file.
